


Resting Upon Human Offspring

by PhoenixDragon



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Mild Humor, Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 11:04:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6326494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixDragon/pseuds/PhoenixDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Greetings human scum,” the person-thing barked in a booming, nasally voice. “I have come to rest upon your offspring."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resting Upon Human Offspring

“I know, love – these things happen. It’s not like your Mum planned to fall and break her arm. I’m just glad work gave you some time off. You’ve more than earned it – and I know your Mum has been wanting you to visit for ages. May not be what either of you planned on, but you’ll get that time together you’ve both been wanting for two years.”

Craig shuffled the mobile with an absent ease from one ear to the other, deftly snatching Alfie up from his mad scramble up the side of the couch (his aim being the top and over, if his direction was anything to go by), settling the baby on the opposite hip with nary a break in his conversation. Alfie chortled and smacked his lips contentedly, all ten of his teeth on full display as he made a grab for the pink stuffed elephant that Craig scooped for him from the other side of the couch.

“No, we’re fine. I had a call from the office earlier. I may have to go and get some paperwork done here in a little – I know, I know – but I managed to find a sitter. Yes, that agency in town. I called them and they should be sending someone over any moment. Yes, I have that. No, it won’t be for long – and we can afford it now, yeah? Alfie needs a break from his dad anyway. A couple of hours without his parents can’t be anything but good for him. Yes. From a magazine. Yeah, the one they sent through the post.” Craig hummed at the teething toddler and switched him to his other hip, snagging the little one’s juice from a messy tray on the coffee table and wagging it in Alfie’s direction. The baby happily dropped his (now soggy) pink elephant and took the offering, clinging to Craig’s arm with a lazy grip as he chugged the apple-water combination in the sip-cup.

“Nahh, we’re doing great. Just a couple of guys, keeping the home fires burning, you know? Course, we both miss you – but I do know you need to get away now and again. Yes, I know. I will, Soph…no, I won’t. I swear, we’re fine – no monsters, aliens…no Doctor. Yeah,” the doorbell rang, catching his attention and he shifted the baby’s weight again, his last couple of responses to his wife slightly sad, mind half in the past even as his current future was now switching between ringing the bell and knocking on the front door. No time to think about the Doctor – much less discuss him – even if he had wanted to. He didn’t want to, though. Not really. How do you tell your wife that your best mate just may not be around anymore? “Yeah, I miss him, too. If I hear anything…yeah. Okay. There’s the doorbell. It’ll only be a couple of hours. I’ll call you when I’m home, okay? Okay. Love you – bye.”

With a final kiss-noise into the phone (much to the delight of Alfie, who dropped his sip-cup in favor of a kiss of his own, please), Craig hung up, shuffling to the door with a patient ‘Coming!’ shouted at whoever was on the stoop. The knocking and ringing stopped abruptly, so he knew whoever was at the door, it certainly wasn’t the Doctor.

Shaking the thought (and wave of nostalgia that followed) firmly away, he took a deep breath and opened the door. Sure, Sophie was gone again – leaving him and Alfie alone for near a week. And yes, the last time that had happened, the Doctor showed. He should be relieved, because usually if the Doctor was there so were aliens and monsters and running of all things –

“Hello, my name is Craig and this is…” Craig started, then stopped when he took in the weird

 _Not an alien, do not even_ think _alien!_

man on the stoop, his grin disconcerting, as it looked more like a grimace before someone bit you than an actual friendly display of teeth. But that wasn’t the worst thing really. It was his head. It looked more like an American football lad on its side and jammed into an overly stuffed suit than an actual head. Not to mention, the suit would have looked much more fetching on a dwarf than…what/whoever this person was.

The person-thing didn’t seem the slightest bit put out by his sudden lack of speech, his left fist coming up to slam against his shoulder that put Craig in mind of some weird form of a salute or greeting, his…back?…straightening as he glared up at Craig, teeth still gleaming stubbily from a lipless mouth. The baby crowed his joy on Craig’s hip, trying to simultaneously cling to his dad and launch himself at the ‘man’ on the stoop all at once.

“Greetings human scum,” the person-thing barked in a booming, nasally voice. “I have come to rest upon your offspring at the behest of –” He whipped out a card from the breast-pocket of his ridiculous suit and squinted at it, not noticing the rude gawk from Craig, much less the drooling, burbling baby on Craig’s hip (who was now struggling to get loose from the iron grip of his father’s arm, happy chatter directed at the odd creature on their front stoop). He read it once, then again before putting it back in his breast-pocket, straightening his posture once more as he sneered at the two of them in the doorway, (though it seemed he was rather pleased about it all). “The Warm Cradle Company. May I enter your residence and commence upon my duties?”

“You what?” Craig squeaked, unsure whether to call the police or let the…person-thing in his house. He needed to get to work. He needed to do that within the next hour. That’s why he called this baby-sitting service. They had four stars. Excellent service reviews.

The praise of Google Reviews (and Yelp and Reddit and Twitter and Facebook) warred with fascinated revulsion, the need to slam the door combating with the need to be polite, not mention the person-thing’s deformity and let him in. Being British won out and he stepped to one side, brain meebling to itself as his body went on automatic – door being closed and locked firmly as he followed the creature (he couldn’t help it, he couldn’t keep calling him ‘person-thing’ anymore, not even in his head), down to his living room without need of directions. Like he already knew the layout of the place.

Craig started to get nervous again, his palms sweaty as he stared at the back of the football-ish head –

_Rugby. Not an American football. More like a rugby ball._

wondering how on earth this creature could move about with such ease, unless he had been here before. Or someone had told him what to expect. And there was only one person who could have done that.

“Excuse me, do you happen to know –” Craig started to say, when he was interrupted by the creature’s strange barking voice, the person-thing ( _’stop that!’_ ) now staring at him with that unblinking gaze ( _‘how did I not noticed that?!’_ ), leering grin never wavering as he shouted out orders in the middle of Craig’s bleeding living room.

“Right! Now hand over the infant weakling and I shall proceed to sit upon him, while you toil away at your pathetic endeavors for your masters.”

“What?” Craig squeaked, now quite sure he should have phoned the police instead of let this mad-man into his house.

“The infant. I’m supposed to ‘baby-sit’ him. _You_ are supposed to go to work,” the last said with an obvious sneer as he held out one (stubby, four-fingered??) hand expectantly for Alfie.

Alfie chortled and screeched his joy, while Craig gave himself a brief mental image of snatching the diaper bag, his mobile and his keys and making a break for his car, after he kicked the coffee-table at the creature the baby-sitting service had foisted off on him. It should slow him down some. Then again, he might just be as uncanny as he looked. Maybe he had laser-eyes or something.

‘ _Definitely going to complain about this_ ,’ Craig thought grimly. ‘ _Take_ that _Yelp Reviews_.’

The man-thing coughed, (his whole body doing this odd jerk forward as he did so), trying to arrange his features into ‘friendly’, which did nothing to assist him in that respect, as it only made him look like a Mr. Potato-head doll gone mental. Well, _more_ mental, anyway.

“Sir,” with that horrid bitey-smile firmly affixed. “If you would. Please unhand the…baby. Attend to your duties. He shall be perfectly fine in my care.”

The phone in Craig’s pocket vibrated and he once more had to shuffle Alfie to one side so he could get to it. He never let his eyes off of the Potato-head man (‘ _There. That’s better – good one, Craig._ ’), but he backed up a few steps – Alfie fussing as he was clutched too tightly in his grip – hitting ‘answer’ before it could even get to the third ring.

“Hullo?” Cautiously – in case there was another mad Potato on the other line. Bizarre things tended to happen in multiples (in Craig’s experience) and he had learned to never take that for granted. “May I help you?”

“Yes, you may,” a gruff voice said on the other line. “I assume this is the residence of Craig –”

“Yes, that’s me,” Craig said quickly, hoping he could use this as an excuse to call in and send the man-thing ( _Potato-man_ ) away. Quickly.

“Ah, good,” the gruff voice said – though it came out more with a Scottish ‘achh, guud’. “I assume that Strax has arrived?”

“Sttrrraaxxx?” Craig said uncertainly, jumping a little and using his body to shield the (once more) chortling toddler, when the Potato-man brightened a bit at (what Craig assumed) must be his name. “Is that the –”

“Mr. Potato-head?” The voice (more grumpy than gruff, now that Craig thought about it), muttered. “Yup. That’s him. Tell him to stow the weapons and tend to the baby. If he doesn’t behave he’ll have to answer to me.”

“Behave? You? Who are –” Craig started to say, only to be cut off – for the umpteen-millionth time today – by the voice on the other end. He was definitely going to be complaining at Yelp. And Google. And Twitter. Maybe Reddit.

“Just tell him he’ll have to answer to the man in the box – he’ll know what you mean,” the voice said. “Got all that? Good. Have a nice day, Craig. And mind the roads on the way home. There’ll be a three-car accident tonight on Bayberry. Better take Lynn Drive home.”

“O..kay,” Craig said – but the man had already hung up.

“The baby. _Sir_.” The Potato (Strax) grinned more fiercely, both stubby-fingered hands out now as if to snatch the child from him physically, if need be.

Craig sighed and hung up his mobile. He eyed Strax for a moment, noting how the man-thing stood in the same position, patient as the dawn, waiting for him to decide what to do.

The one time when he needed the Doctor and of _course_ he wasn’t there.

But he knew what the Doctor would do.

He handed Alfie over, making mental note at how gentle the four-fingered hands seemed to be as he cradled Craig’s child; how he seemed to chuck the toddler under the chin just right – the move absent and fond enough that he had to have done it a hundred times before. He was going to trust the voice on the phone. He didn’t know why. He wasn’t even sure he was one hundred percent _not_ mad for taking this chance. But the Doctor would have done it. So it was only right he do so.

“I assume the sentient on the mobile-device was…” Strax hesitated, like a man unsure of how much to give a way. Craig let him flounder for a moment, before taking mercy on him.

“The man in the box…at least, that was what he said I was to tell you,” Craig confirmed – noting how the horrid smile was back – but it seemed he had gotten used to it in the last few minutes, because it seemed more goofy than menacing at this point. “He said to ‘stow the weapons’ and ‘behave’. You…didn’t bring weapons into my house, did you? I mean, you’re a _babysitter_ –”

“Of course not!” Strax said, going for shocked but only managing to sound slightly guilty, not looking Craig in the eye as he bounce Alfie on his…hip? Did he even have hips? “Not even a few acid-bombs.”

“What?” Craig asked. Then (realizing he seemed to be asking that question a lot) he firmly shook his head, rattled off basic instructions and main points of the house before grabbing his mobile, keys and laptop bag.

“Be safe, sir.” Strax said kindly, the voice softer and more genuine, though is still sounded like a growling bark. “And be sure to take Lynn Drive in as well. Traffic jams are inefficient and you will be late for…work…if you take Bayberry at this time.”

Craig clamped his mouth shut before another ‘what?’ could pop out of it, wondering idly how the voice, much less _Strax_ knew how traffic was going to be, before he decided to focus on getting to work and getting back home as quickly as possible. He didn’t need to find out firsthand what ‘acid-bombs’ might be – and if Alfie didn’t get his nap at 3pm precisely, he might find out. Then Sophie would kill him. Then Strax. If he was lucky, not in that order.

Not that he wanted to find out.

“Call if you need anything, Strax,” Craig said. Then, because he was raised properly. “And thank you.”

“No need for thanks, sir,” Strax bitey-grinned. “Just serving my sentence…I mean – doing my job.”

“Right,” Craig squeaked, practically running out the door before he did exactly what instinct told him to do earlier: grab Alfie, the car, the keys and run. At this point, he might have even spared the coffee-table. “See you in a few hours, then.”

‘ _Maybe less if I can manage it._ ’

 

****

O-o-O-o-O

 

“Stormageddon. Perfect name!” Strax boomed, spooning mashed protein into the toddler’s mouth with expert grace (borne out of merciless practice). “I shall be forced to crush you in battle – when you are of age, of course – but should you survive the might of the Sontaran Empire, I would gladly take arms beside the bearer of such a worthy name!”

Alfie cackled and smacked the end of the spoon heading back towards his mouth, the flexible plastic making a magnificent ‘sproing’ sound as the edible missile arced elegantly through the air to land between Strax’s eyes. Strax beamed pride at the infant, (sure that even such an inferior species could get it right now and again), reloaded the spoon, then (watching for the flailing hands), shoved another mouthful of the terrible-smelling mess into Alfie’s grinning, drooling maw.

There might be something to be said about small humans. If they could survive such awful rations to make it to adulthood (and glory!), they might be less inferior than Strax had been told.

He would have to contemplate this further; though this was not the first time he had done so.

Information gathering on an enemy (and not under-estimating said enemy), was the first rule of tactical combat. Alfie had proven (so far) to be a worthy adversary-in-training. He _seemed_ completely helpless (with the feeding, bathing and changing that all needed to be done _for_ him): but he also seemed to take that ‘disadvantage’ and turn it to his own ends. Maybe it wasn’t such a disadvantage after all. He obviously had to have the most power in the dwelling (from all the objects designed specifically to bathe, feed, change and appease him), and he wielded that power with an authority that refused to be impugned.

Strax would have to do more research into this idea.

But only after the wee human had been bathed and settled in for his nap.

 

****

O-o-O-o-O

 

 

Craig could barely concentrate on his work for the whole four hours he was there.

With as much as he got accomplished, he might as well have not gone in at all. Vague disasters kept flitting through his head, each scenario worse than the last…and none of them was particularly pleasant. It always ended the same though: house melted/exploded, Sophie appearing beside him to ask in her sweetest (and deadliest voice) ‘ _So this is alllll under control, isn’t it, Craig?_ ’ before promptly choking the living daylights out of him…or variations thereof.

It was only as he reached the bottom of the pile that he realized he _could_ have gone home (paperwork in tow) and no one would have raised even an eyebrow. More than a few eyebrows were raised over his being there, though – even as he could tell that a lot of the chaps at work had merely assumed that he _wanted_ to be at work. Nothing could be further from the truth, really. Even if he didn’t have a mad Potato-head with a weird name watching his only child, he would still rather be home with Alfie, watching the telly, napping on the couch and wrestling for the last of the crisps. It was like living with your best mate, 24/7 (just a wee bit smaller than average), if one thought about it.

And as he let his mind drift over his mates at uni, he was rather startled to find the comparison not just close, but dead on target.

‘ _Huh._ ’ His mind said.

 **6:00PM!!!!** \- his watched buzzed.

“Bloody hell,” said Craig, grabbing his jacket, keys and mobile (stuff the laptop – it would keep), heading for his (hopefully, still intact) house, his very best mate in the world (besides Sophie) and the rest of a nice, (semi) relaxing weekend at home ahead of him. Just him and Alfie – for a little while longer at least.

He closed and locked the office door carefully behind him, waving goodbye to the few sorry sods left on the work-floor, glued to their terminals – avoiding the rest of the weekend ahead. Sadly enough, he knew that most of them _chose_ to be there…

But not him.

He was almost at Bayberry before he remembered.

He took Lynn Drive instead – feeling sorry for the bastards stuck at his usual route home – the Beeb-radio telling him that there was a five car pile-up that would take at least two hours to clear.

‘ _Piss poor way to spend a Saturday night,_ ’ he thought.

Then turned into the driveway of a dark and silent house.

 

****

O-o-O-o-O

Craig took a few deep, calming breaths, pinching the bridge of his nose (a habit he had unknowingly picked up off of his _other_ best mate – the alien one), and told himself that he mustn’t panic or jump to conclusions. There was likely a good explanation. Such as Sophie came home, jetlagged (or rather, car-lagged) and decided to send the Potato-head man

‘ _Strax. His name is Strax._ ’

packing (likely with a flea in his ear – Sophie hated driving long distances, but refused to fly all the same), before settling Alfie in and taking a nap herself. Maybe the house was an illusion and it wasn’t really there.

Nahh. Things like that only happened _once_ in a life time.

Maybe Strax had just scarpered on his own, bested by Craig’s ‘offspring’ as he had so quaintly put it.

Or maybe none of these things.

One thing was for sure. He wouldn’t find out unless he went inside.

“Right,” Craig whispered, unsure why he was whispering, but doing it all the same. “Guess it is time to find out, then.”

Pep talk over, he calmly turned off the car, gathered his jacket, mobile and keys – and made his way to his front door. There was no sound or movement inside, but he refused to let that daunt him in any way. He carefully, quietly opened the door (stopping it at the half-way point before it could make that awful creaking sound he had never gotten around to fixing), before just as quietly and carefully placing the jacket – mobile and keys wrapped in its soft folds to muffle the noise of them – on the chair near the door, grabbing the umbrella from the stand near the chair and hoisting it like a bat over his shoulder, senses tuned to anything unusual.

For such a big man, Craig could move with soft feet and stealthy speed. Time with the Doctor had honed these skills he’d never knew he had – and he was prepared for moments such as this. Moments where things could have gone terribly, terribly wrong –

Moments that were not today.

Craig lowered the umbrella, smiling despite himself when he took on the sight of Strax and Alfie – both sacked out on the couch, fast asleep. Alfie looked well-scrubbed and fed, his baby-face relaxed in contented slumber: his new best friend and playmate also his comfy mattress of sorts, as he was stretched out on the Potato-man’s…chest?...Strax’s arms holding him in a relaxed, but firm grip, even as he snored away beneath the baby’s weight. There were water-marks on the creature’s pressed suit – and what looked to be baby food on his face – but Craig could honestly say Strax looked almost happy in his sleep.

Like this was what he was made to do.

A quick check of the kitchen and bathroom revealed a surprisingly pristine set of rooms (as though they had never been touched – even as Strax’s clothing and face showed another tale altogether), the rest of the house in the same order he had left it in – surprising, yet heartening in itself. He did another quick check of the house, wondering if he should disturb the slumbering man-thing on the sofa, but changed his mind before he could do so.

Another couple of hours wouldn’t hurt. Looked like Strax had more than earned a bit of a nap.

He covered Strax and Alfie with the comforter draped across the sofa’s back, pausing once when Strax snorted in his sleep, (mumbling something about crushing someone for the glory of something-something ‘empire’) – his last ‘clear-ish’ statement seemed to be directed at the snoozing baby (‘A fine adversary – it shall be a joy to be defeated by you, sir!’) – before falling back into gentle snores, barely stirring when Craig covered them both with the soft fleece.

He crept back to the door, retrieving his mobile and dialed his wife, as promised.

“Hey, Soph…yeah, I’m back, love. Yeah, yeah – work was fine. And so is Alfie. You know, I had my doubts about this service – but I have to say it was a good idea in the end.” He laughed softly and made his way up the stairs, turning the hall lights out so it wouldn’t disturb the two snoozing ‘sentient beings’ on the living room couch. “Well, when I first met Strax – I know what a name, yeah? Well, when I first met him, I wasn’t so sure…then his boss called…yeah. Yeah. He’s perfect, really. Think we’ll have to call on him again – like when you get home. I know you and I haven’t gone out in ages and well...I think you’ll love this guy

…I really do.”  


**Author's Note:**

>  **Warnings:** Character Study, Speculation, Mild Humor  
>  **A/N:** Written for [](http://www.dreamwidth.org/profile?user=dw_guestfest)[](http://www.dreamwidth.org/profile?user=dw_guestfest)**dw_guestfest** 's **Prompt:** _#29 Craig and Alfie meet Strax, and put Strax's nursemaiding skills to the test_.  
> Well, I must admit, I wracked my brains for this one. Honestly, the Muse was so preoccupied with the other prompt I got, She wanted to be bitchy about working on this one (thus the horrid, horrid lateness). I finally got an idea this morning - though it refused to coalesce until this afternoon (again, contributing to the horrid lateness). I don't know if it reads well (I'm afraid it might sound too rushed!), or if it is even _close_ to what the prompter was looking for. I can only apologize for any failures on my part and hope that it is half as enjoyable to read as it was to write! As usual, this fic is mostly unbeta'd and written in one go, so please forgive any mistakes and/or blatant vagueness. And (as always), I apologize for any repetition, misspellings, sentence fails, grammatical oh-noes and general horridness. Unbeta'd fic is overly-thinky/wandery/blithery and unbeta'd.  
>  **Disclaimer(s): _I do not own the scrumptious Doctor or his lovely companions. That honor goes to the BBC and (for now) the fantastic S. Moffat. The only thing that belongs to me is this fiction - and I am making no profit. Only playing about!_**


End file.
